


Awakening

by mihomi98



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-08-19
Packaged: 2017-11-28 20:05:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/678385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mihomi98/pseuds/mihomi98
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Enjolras wanted to do was to keep Grantaire from dying for something he never even believed in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

                Enjolras fiddled with his tie, his eyes sending calculating glances around the room as he looked at his friends. All around him, everyone was talking and laughing, making the most of their last night before the barricades would arise. Everyone was so hopeful, so full of life, that it was making Enjolras worry about tomorrow. Was he doing the right thing by leading his friends so blindly into this battle? Sure, they had spent a great deal of time in preparation, but would it be enough?

                Enjolras bit his lip, focusing his attention on the individual students in the room. In the corner, Joly was shielding himself from Combeferre and whimpering with every fake cough and sneeze that Combeferre directed his way. Enjolras could not be sure, but he was nearly positive that the medic was mumbling different possible diseases he was being exposed to with every expenditure of air from the latter boy’s lungs. A few tables over, Courfeyrac was trying his hardest to get Eponine to pay attention to his  foolish chatter and attempts at flirting, while Eponine was desperately trying to get Marius’ attention back on her. Marius, of course, was rambling about “hair as golden as the sun” and “eyes that sparkle like sapphires”, causing Eponine to force smiles and nods, her eyes revealing the pain she was truly feeling. Jehan, his normal self shining though, was rapidly writing, his fountain pen flying over the pages of his journal as he tried to compose his best poem yet. Bahorel and Feuilly were laughing mercifully in the opposite corner, playing cards with Bossuet, who, once again, did not have luck on his side.

                As Enjolras’ studied, he tried his hardest to keep his eyes away from the one person who he wanted to look at the most. Grantaire. When Enjolras had finally exhausted his sights, he gave in, doing so with a sigh.  His heart thudded painfully in his chest. His eyes widened when he realized that Grantaire was staring back at him, an unexplainable look in his on his face. While the expression was not new, it still confused Enjolras greatly. What was the man thinking when he stared so deeply at Enjolras?      Grantaire gave a small smile and a wave with the hand that was not holding his bottle of wine once he realized that the blonde’s attention was focused on him. Enjolras smiled back gravely, his smile growing tighter as the man in question decided to stand up and walk over to Enjolras.

                The first thing Enjolras noticed was that, for once, Grantaire did not appear to be drunk. In fact, upon further examination, it seemed that not even a quarter of Grantaire’s bottle had been consumed in the three hours since the meeting had started.

                “I wanted to spend my last night with everyone in a way that I could remember it,” Grantaire said softly after a moment, noticing Enjolras’ staring. He sat down next to the blond, putting his arm on the table and leaning into his hand, his eyes boring deep into Enjolras’, the cerulean orbs burning brightly. Enjolras felt his breath catch in his throat for a moment before he pushed the feelings back down. Enjolras had promised himself that nothing would get in the way of the Rebellion, and that included any feelings that may have formed since the beginning of their friendship.

                “It’s not your last night with everyone,” Enjolras answered. “We are going to win, and Patria will be the most beautiful land on all of Earth. We will be free.” Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. Enjolras knew that he was lying, and he knew that Grantaire knew it too, but he needed to stay positive. He could not appear weak. Hell, he was the one leading his friends into this battle. He could not admit that he was just as afraid of death as all the rest of them. Fear did not provide power. Fear would do nothing to fight the soldiers. Fear would only cause each man’s death to come that much quicker. “We will.” Enjolras bit his lip before speaking again. “You are a different person when you are sober, Grantaire. Will you sit and talk with me?” Grantaire shrugged before casting his glance to the ground, his eyes sad and his body deflated. It worried Enjolras. “What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing, I just…” Grantaire shook his head, cutting himself off. He looked at Enjolras, his face drawn. “I, I just…” He shook his head again, breathing out heavily. “Nevermind. It’s not important.” He forced a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “Why would you want to spend your last night with me, anyway?” Grantaire commented softly before making a move to stand and walk away. Enjolras was too quick for him, though, and grabbed Grantaire’s hand to pull him back down.  

                “No. I want to spend it with you,” Enjolras said, firmly. He truly did not want Grantaire to go away. In all honestly, he did not want to face death without ever acting upon the feelings that he had tried so hard to push aw… no. He could not think like that. Besides, even if Grantaire agreed to spend time with him, why would he ever desire the revolutionary back? Enjolras glanced around the room, and after noticing that everyone was beginning to say their goodbyes, gripped Grantaire’s hand tighter. “Come home with me tonight. Let us talk as brothers, rather than opposites on this last night.”

                Grantaire smiled nervously and squeezed Enjolras’ hand back before agreeing. The boys said their goodbyes, as did the rest of the men who were retiring for the night.  While the raven and the sun made their way back to Enjolras’ apartment, they talked about anything that did not pertain to the barricade. They talked about art, and music, and literature, as well as simply about their friends. Once they had exhausted those topics, Grantaire began to ramble aimlessly about art and his family. Enjolras remained silent through most of the conversation, remembering better days before Grantaire had started drinking. He doubted that Grantaire even remembered their conversation so many moons ago… it had been before the talk of the Rebellion had begun, before Grantaire’s drinking had gotten out of hand. They had met briefly at the Musain, when Grantaire was working on his art and Enjolras was simply lurking. He had taken notice of the sketches, and commented to Grantaire about his work. The boys had talked for well over an hour after the initial comment, and Enjolras slowly felt an attraction building up the longer that they spoke. When the boys met later on, once again at the Musain, Enjolras felt that attraction spark back to life, even though this Grantaire and the one Enjolras had gotten to know where only the same in body, not in spirit.

 

                The boys sat in Enjolras’ front room on the aged suede sofa, thousands of books surrounding the duo on rickety shelves that Enjolras’ had made out of boards he found in the Musain months previously. The walls were a dark red and, upon the warm light of the oil lamps bathing the scene, seemed to glow and pulse like a heart as the flame danced and swayed. Enjolras was sitting on one end of the couch, toying with an embroidered pillow on his lap as he stared at Grantaire. _God, he is so beautiful when he is actually passionate about something,_ Enjolras thought to himself. For once, he did not chide himself for his thoughts, no matter how much he wanted to. Enjolras was sick of hiding what he thought of the man in front of him.

                 It was true, he had always found Grantaire endearing: his inky curls framing his skin, alabaster from so many drunken nights; his eyes, bright blue with excitement whenever he argued with Enjolras or talked to his friends; his lips, soft and pink, swollen from so many times accidently biting them as he laughed and drank. Enjolras sighed. He longed to spend this last night with Grantaire in his arms… it was a shame that this moment, the first time since the initial meeting that Grantaire had paid more attention to Enjolras that to his drink, would also be the last time that Grantaire was able to. This time, Enjolras did scold himself. They were _not_ going to die. This was _not_ the last night. They were going to win. Enjolras would have another chance to spend time with Grantaire, as well as all of the rest of Les Amis.

                Enjolras tore his eyes from Grantaire, no longer able to look such beauty in the face. He felt like his heart was breaking. This pain was exactly why Enjolras had forbidden himself from thinking too deeply about the other boy. He knew he loved him. He had _always_ known that he loved him, no matter how much he denied. It killed Enjolras that Grantaire did not believe in anything, that he was so cynical and looked down upon every fleeting thought that Enjolras had, that he would rather kill himself with brandy and wine than he would pay attention to his friend. That was one of the reasons why Enjolras was so harsh to the boy, why he acted so often as if he had despised him.

                Enjolras bit his lip, a deep feeling of sadness overwhelming him. He shook his head, trying to make the feeling go away, but it only made him feel worse. Why could he not have one moment of happiness before he died? He had gone so long trying to keep himself from being distracted from the Rebellion, why could he not have one night where his thoughts were focused on anything else?  

                A hand on Enjolras’ thigh caused him to jump and, when Enjolras looked up, Grantaire was much closer than Enjolras’ had remembered. Enjolras could almost feel the boy’s breath upon his face. Grantaire was looking at the blond with an intense expression, his eyes dark and wide, his lips slightly parted in concern.  Enjolras’ heart rate began to increase, his breathing staggered. It took every ounce of the boy’s willpower not to lean forward and kiss the winecask. He had never desired Grantaire as much as he had in that moment, and it was driving him wild. He flickered his eyes towards Grantaire’s lips, now shining from Grantaire wetting them, and let out a strangled noise. 

                Grantaire bit his lip, making Enjolras squirm in his seat as he continued to stare. Grantaire let out a shaky breath. His eyes showed conflict, and he looked as though he was fighting an internal debate. Finally, it seemed as though Grantaire had made a decision. The brunet leaned in closer before speaking, placing a shaky hand around the back of the blond’s neck. He was clearly nervous about whatever it was that he had decided to do. He began to speak, his voice tense. “Enjy…. I, I have to try something… I am dying not doing it… I need to, so badly…” His shaking voice trailed off.

                Enjolras moved his eyes back up. His blood felt as though it had been set aflame, the wick of Grantaire’s fingers burning down closer and closer until Enjolras’ swore that he himself must be made of fire. It took Enjolras a moment to interpret what Grantaire was saying (he had been too focused on the feeling of Grantaire touching him). Once he did, he was confused. Grantaire’s jumbled-up words did not make any sense to the distracted boy. “What do you need to do, ‘Taire?” Enjolras asked, wincing slightly at how husky his voice came out. He rested his forehead against his comrade’s, praying that Grantaire did not realize how thickly Enjolras’ voice was dripping with lust.

                Grantaire, though, did notice, and he let out a soft noise at the sound. He began to shift nervously again before saying, “Don’t hate me, alright?”

                Enjolras nodded as Grantaire began to run in thumb in small circles from where he had placed his hand on his friend’s nape. Grantaire bit his lip again before pulling Enjolras to him, kissing him. He kissed gently at first, but then he pressed hard, desperate for Enjolras to react. Unfortunately, Enjolras, shocked by the kiss, did nothing. Grantaire interpreted this lack of response as disgust, and he pulled back sadly after a moment, his face the epitome of despair. “I-I’m sor—“

                Enjolras cut him off, lunging forward to kiss him again. That one quick kiss awakened all of Enjolras’ emotions, and that desire he felt increased tenfold. He kissed lightly at first, but the moment that Grantaire moved his hands around Enjolras’ back after getting over the initial shock, Enjolras let out a whimper and pulled Grantaire to him and kissed him deeply, trying to tell Grantaire everything that he felt and thought about him through this single action. Apparently it worked, because Grantaire let out a breathy moan, moving a hand off Enjolras’ back to tangle in his blond curls.  

                Hands tightened in Enjolras’ hair as Grantaire pulled. Enjolras pushed the boy down against the couch, sliding his tongue out to tease at Grantaire’s lips. Grantaire, though, had other plans in mind. He flipped Enjolras over, choosing to straddle him as he started to litter Enjolras’ jaw line and neck with open-mouthed kisses, his fingers trailing down to unbutton Enjolras’ shirt as he kissed lower. The lower Grantaire moved, the more aroused Enjolras felt himself becoming, but the more nervous he also became.

                Enjolras stopped Grantaire’s hands for a moment as the brunet tried hurriedly to undo Enjolras’ pants. Grantaire looked up in confusion. “I… I have never done this before,” Enjolras admitted quietly, his voice shaking slightly. Grantaire smiled up at him before moving to kiss him lightly.

                “I promise I will not doing anything rash,” Grantaire responded, holding himself over Enjolras, their faces mere centimeters away from each other, their lower halves lined up. Enjolras moaned softly as Grantaire pushed against him, his arousal obvious against Enjolras’ own. Grantaire kissed him again before moving down, his kisses once again ghosting Enjolras’ torso.

                Grantaire finally managed to undo the belt and, using his teeth, undid Enjolras’ zipper. He grazed his fingers over the trouser-clad cock, his eyes growing wide appreciatively. The blond near exploded at the feeling. “Grantaire,” he groaned, thrusting up against the brunet, desperate for contact.

                “Be patient, Apollo,” Grantaire chided, slowly pulling down Enjolras’ undergarments. “I have longed for this moment too long for it to be over so quickly.” Grantaire removed the rest of Enjolras’ clothing, his breath catching in this throat. “You’re beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes tracing every outline of Enjolras’ body.

                Enjolras pulled the boy back up for a moment, kissing him. “I want to see all of you too,” he admitted before slowly removing the other boy’s clothing. Grantaire nodded and quickly moved to help, throwing the items hastily across the room. He continued to straddle Enjolras, simply sitting up for Enjolras’ view. Enjolras scanned the boy’s body, smirking. His eyes widened when his eyes finally reached Grantaire’s cock, proudly standing amidst a mess of black curls, a drop of precum dripping off the tip. Enjolras swallowed thickly, his throat going dry. He pulled Grantaire back to kiss him, pulling Grantaire flesh against him in the process.

                Both boys moaned as solid heat gathered between them. Grantaire was the first to move, his hand snaking between their bodies to grip them both at once, his hand starting slow but quickly moving faster as he realized that neither Enjolras nor him were in any state to be teased anymore. He started to bite down Enjolras’ neck, only stopping to suck at a pulse point as Enjolras whimpered beneath him.

                Enjolras had never imagined that intimacy with Grantaire would be as wonderful as this, had never imagined how deeply his feelings would awoken by a single touch. He had never imagined that being intimate would feel so damn _good._  Grantaire and his body were slick with sweat. Enjolras pushed back Grantaire’s hand before rutting against the boy, wrapping one leg behind his back.

                “I’m close, Enjy,” Grantaire whispered a moment later, as Enjolras’ leg locked the boy in tighter, the nails of Enjolras’ right hand digging into his back. Enjolras grasped harder, moaning in response to Grantaire’s words. He wished that this time would last longer, but Enjolras knew that he was already close, too. The raven moved to kiss Enjolras hard, immediately thrusting his tongue into Enjolras’ mouth, exploring every crevice and bump within. He only pulled back when he was satisfied that he had memorized every imperfection to lean into Enjolras’ ear and whisper a breathy confession of, “Enjy, I love you.”

                Enjolras cried out at the words, his body tensing up as he climaxed. He dragged his nails down Grantaire’s back as he trembled, his hips thrusting wildly against Grantaire’s. “I love you, ‘Taire,” Enjolras shouted as he shook, biting into Grantaire’s shoulder. Clearly, Enjolras’ words had the same effect on Grantaire as Grantaire’s on Enjolras, for a moment later Enjolras could feel hot spurts of cum burning against his chest, slurring his words of “fuckEnjolrasfuckfuckfuckGodYouAreSoGorgeousfuckfuckfuckILoveYouSoMuchFuckingHell” as he came. When Grantaire was finally spent, he fell on top of the blond bonelessly, his ebony curls sticking to his forehead as they gleamed with sweat.

                The boys lay like that for hours, until Grantaire grudgingly sat up, saying that he should leave so Enjolras could get some rest before the Rebellion. Enjolras pulled him back down for a kiss instead. “Lay down in bed with me?” Enjolras asked softly, his voice pleading. Enjolras’ fears about the barricade were coming back to him. He just wanted Grantaire to hold him until they had to leave. Grantaire smiled and kissed him again before he nodded.

                The moved to head into the bedroom, which, once again, was red. There was a desk in the corner. Piles of paper lined the desk, and a red flag was pinned against the wall above. The bed was neatly made: a beige and red quilt that Enjolras’ mother had made for him as a child rested atop the mattress, pillows stacked at the top. Enjolras led Grantaire to the bed, pulling back the quilt.

                Once the boys were lying down, Enjolras pressed his face into Grantaire’s shoulder, a deep feeling of sadness overwhelming him. He bit his lip, wrapping his arms around Grantaire’s waist.

                “What’s wrong, Apollo?” Grantaire whispered, nudging at Enjolras’ head with his chin, wrapping one arm around Enjolras’ shoulders and stretching the other out for fondle blond curls. He pressed a kiss atop the man’s head. Enjolras remained silent. Grantaire removed his hand from Enjolras’ hair and placed his fingers under Enjolras’ chin, forcing the man to look up at him. “Apollo, please tell me.”

                Enjolras bit his lip again, considering if he should tell Grantaire the truth or not. “I’m scared,” he finally admitted softly. He shook his head out of Grantaire’s grasp and buried in his shoulder again. In fact, that was a lie. Enjolras was terrified. In just a few short hours, the battle would be starting, and Enjolras could very well lose everything that he had gained tonight. He was afraid for the lives of his friends. He was afraid for himself. Most of all, he was afraid for Grantaire. Grantaire, who never even believed in change. Why should Grantaire die for something he was so vehemently against? “Why are you even part of this battle?” Enjolras mumbled into Grantaire’s shoulder.

                Grantaire sighed. “I may not believe in much, but I believe in you.” He moved to kiss Enjolras before continuing. “Enj, you should know that I have _always_ loved you, ever since the very first time we talked at the Musain so many years back. Yes, I do remember that,” Grantaire teased at Enjolras’ shocked look. Enjolras blushed. “I disagreed so often with you so that you were forced to take a step back and really think about what you were claiming, rather than just spouting off ideas. I may still not agree with everything that you have said, but I hold so much admiration and veneration for you that you could claim that Napoleon was secretly a woman who sought to destroy all men and that we needed to dig up her grave to prove it and I would help you do what you said even though I know it is untrue.”  He began to cough. Enjolras looked up at him in concern. Grantaire chuckled. “Sorry. It is just the lack of alcohol in my system.”

                Enjolras squirmed out of Grantaire’s grasp and moved off the bed. “I am going to make us some tea. I will be right back.” He leaned in and kissed Grantaire lightly before walking to the kitchen. As Enjolras walked in, he caught sight of the herbs that Enjolras’ mother used to give him as a child when he could not sleep. Enjolras kept them in a jar on the counter, for nights when his mind was plagued with thoughts. The herbs knocked him out quick. Suddenly, Enjolras had an idea of how to save Grantaire from this mess.

                Enjolras made the tea before walking to the jar. As he crushed up a teaspoon of the herb, Enjolras felt his heart sinking in his chest. Grantaire was going to hate him… but at least he would be alive. Enjolras would not have to worry about Grantaire being slain at the barricades, would not have to worry about Grantaire dying for something he did not believe in. Enjolras would rather Grantaire despise him forevermore than he be dead, and if drugging Grantaire was how that would be achieved, then by God Enjolras was going to do it! Enjolras was not positive, but he believed that he had crushed enough of the herb that Grantaire would sleep until the next morning, at the very least. Grantaire would never even catch sight of the battle.

 

XXXXX

 

                As Enjolras, drenched in blood, stared at the soldiers in front of him, his heart pounded with hatred towards himself. He was right. He _had_ led all of his friends to their deaths. Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jehan, Joly…. They were all dead. They all had so much to live for, and yet, here they were, just barely children and already they lived no more. Enjolras felt sick. He deserved this. He had always told himself he would die for his dear Patria, and it looked like she had decided that he was to do so.

                Enjolras steadied himself for the shots, closing his eyes and internally whispering, _I love you, Grantaire. I am so sorry. Please forgive me for this._ His eyes shot open as he heard a cry of “ _Vive la Republique!_ I am one of them!”

                Enjolras turned his head toward the sound, looking under hooded lids as he saw Grantaire push his way through the soldiers. Grantaire’s eyes screamed an apology, his shame at sleeping through the battle shining through. Enjolras tried to convey back with his own eyes that Grantaire did not need to be there, that Grantaire should have stayed away, but at Grantaire’s whispered plea of _Do you permit it?_ , Enjolras can do nothing more but smile softly and take Grantaire’s hand in his own as the sound of bullets exploding fill the air.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Hey, everyone! 

If you enjoyed this story, you should check out my newest novel! It is available on Amazon in paperback and in a digital format for Kindles. 

Search Façade by Rebekah Blackmore, and you will be able to find it! I hope you all enjoy it and, as always, thank you for reading!


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